


Unbroken

by taradiane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taradiane/pseuds/taradiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories make us who we are. What happens when they disappear?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snapshots](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/43804) by elfflame. 



> Written in September 2007 for the hd_remix fest on livejournal. I remixed a story by elfflame called 'Snapshots' that was inspired by the movie, '50 First Dates' (where Drew Barrymore's character wakes up every single day with no idea who she is or of the days prior due to her short-term memory loss). Me being me, I upped the angst about tenfold and ran with it. This is the story that started my love affair with the amnesia/memory loss trope.
> 
> I have deliberately used the original author's dialogue in the opening scene as a way to tie the two fics together (and some other minor details), but the rest has been changed considerably, including how the story ended.

_Will this ever get any easier?_ I wonder, certain that the answer is no, yet still desperately hoping that my gut is wrong. That one day, maybe today, I’ll have my Draco back.  
  
 _My_ Draco. Except he doesn’t know that he’s mine. He used to know. He used to revel in the knowledge that we belonged to each other.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
He should be waking any moment now. As I do every morning, I’m sitting in this broken-down velvet chair that he’s always hated, pulled up so close to the bed that my knees are touching the mattress upon which he sleeps. I’m waiting for those pale lashes to start to flutter like they always do, and for that familiar grimace of pain that I’ve become so accustomed to over the past thirteen months to begin to surface on the smooth pink lips. Lips that I haven’t kissed in over six months.  
  
I glance over at the headache potion on the bedside table, wishing I’d brought up two as I can feel one starting to creep up in the back of my head. Too late now, though, because I need to be here the moment that he wakes. His pain will be a lot worse than mine. I’ve got the letter in my right hand - the letter that he wrote to himself on his last day of lucidity.  
  
The edges are frayed from constant handling over the past several months, and the seal will no longer re-fasten, not even with magic. I unfurl the parchment, soft as fabric by now, and read it for what must be the hundredth time.  
  


> **Draco,**
> 
> **If you’re reading this letter, the first thing you should know is to trust Harry. Everything he tells you is the truth. I know it’s a lot to take in, but it will eventually make sense to you. Let him talk.**

  
  
I look outside the window and see the sun, high in the sky. He’s sleeping longer than usual, which is good for me. On the days he sleeps past sunrise, it usually means that he’s going to have one of his good days. One of the days where he gives his new reality a chance. One of the days where he actually leaves the room and doesn’t shut himself away from this life he can’t remember making for himself. One of the days where he’s not terrified of my touch.  
  
I hear the change in his breathing that tells me he’s awake. His eyes flutter open for a few seconds, and he shuts them tightly with a groan, trying to block out the bright sunlight that only exacerbates the pain that I know is throbbing in his head.  
  
In the beginning, I used to have the thick velvet curtains pulled shut to block out the light, but once he saw me he refused to drink from the cup that I would hand to him, pushing it away as if it were poison. Making sure his eyes stay closed was Snape’s idea, so the curtains remained open.  
  
"Here. Drink this," I say to him, keeping my voice quiet so as not to further aggravate his headache.  
  
I put the cup in his hand, helping him grasp hold, a dull ache deep inside me at the intimate touch that I know means more to me than to him. He starts to sit up, eyes still tightly closed, and takes slow sips of the potion without hesitating.  
  
After several swallows, I can tell the pain is receding because the lines around his eyes and forehead begin to disappear. He opens his eyes just a little, adjusting to the bright light, and he sighs in relief.  
  
"Thanks," he says gruffly, turning slightly toward me, and I mentally prepare for what’s about to come.  
  
His mouth gapes open in shock, and not a tiny bit of fear. This part always hurts the worst, and I can feel my heart breaking for what always feels like the first time.  
  
I wonder if eventually the break will never heal and I'll just stay broken for the rest of my life.  
  
"Better?" I ask, leaning back in the chair, putting physical distance between us that I know he needs.  
  
He looks at me for several minutes, eyes blinking more rapidly than usual, and I can see his breath quickening as the rest of his senses take in the strange surroundings that used to be his source of comfort and solitude. He nods curtly, and I can see his eyes taking in the changes he sees in my face. His eyes start to blink through the confusion that’s beginning to take over his mind.  
  
His last memory is always the same, and there was a time where I considered cutting my hair so that it would look the same as it did in seventh year. The year he finally beat me in Quidditch. The year we finally stopped fighting each other, and stopped fighting the truth behind why we were always so drawn to one another.  
  
Snape said that doing so would be akin to taking paracetamol for a werewolf bite. Completely pointless.  
  
"Where am I?" he finally asks, his voice cracking on the last word in what I know to be fear.  
  
Draco has always hated feeling at a loss. Hated the unknown.  
  
"Home," I tell him, taking a deep breath in preparation for the conversation that I know is beginning. The one that I’ve had with him over a hundred times but is the first time for him.  
  
"This is not Malfoy Manor," he sneers at me, looking so much like that seventh year Slytherin that would much rather be hexing me through the wall right about now.  
  
"No. Our home, Draco."  
  
Here it comes.  
  
"Don’t call me that, Potter!" he snarls, sitting up straight and balling his hands into fists.  
  
"Look, I know this is strange, but…"  
  
His eyes take on a frantic gleam, and he’s starting to move away from me to the other side of the bed. Our bed.  
  
"No, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here…"  
  
"Please," I say to him, as gently as I can but unable to keep the pleading from my voice, "let me try to explain?"  
  
I want this part over with as quickly as possible.  
  
His eyes narrow into tiny slits, and I see them flicker toward the closed bedroom door.  
  
"Fine," he finally spits out, but I can hear fear much louder than anger in his tone. "But only because my head still feels like it’s about to slide off my shoulders if I move."  
  
He swallows thickly, and pulls the bed sheet up to his chin as though it’s going to protect him from some unknown harm, and from me.  
  
"As soon as I feel better, I’m out of here, Potter," he practically snarls, and he doesn’t like that I’m unaffected by his agitation.  
  
If he only knew.  
  
This is another sign that today will be a good day for him. Usually it’s a much longer battle to get him to agree to listen to me. Some days he never agrees, and those are the days that he stays locked in this room, only opening the door to shout out random threats at me that start or end with ‘Once my father hears about this!’  
  
"What’s your last memory?" I ask him. There is still a faint, useless flicker of hope that it’s going to be something other than what it always is, and I have to push it down until it extinguishes.  
  
He’s looking at me as though I’ve just asked him to recite the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, as though it has no relevance whatsoever to the situation he’s in…and then I see his expression change as it always does - incredulity to confusion to the beginnings of panic.  
  
"Let’s try a different question," I say, leaning forward a bit and trying my damndest to show him that I’m only here to help.  
  
"What year is it, Draco?"  
  
He glares at me, and I’m sure that part of it is for using his given name on top of the supposed asinine question.  
  
"1997, of course," he answers, chin jutting out proudly.  
  
My eyes close of their own volition, and that flicker of hope that I thought I had drowned had apparently been hiding, because I can physically feel it die inside me and it hurts.  
  
"It’s not, Draco. It’s 2004."  
  
"Liar!" he shouts at me, and I see a spark of regret flash across his eyes after he yells and it surprises me.  
  
That’s never happened before.  
  
He lifts the mug half-full of potion to his lips again and takes a large gulp. He’s keeping his eyes on the potion that’s left, as though it’s going to give him the answers he seeks.  
  
I have the same wish, but with an entirely different potion in mind.  
  
He’s looking at me now, and I can practically read the thoughts running through his mind. There’s something inside him that knows I’m right, telling him to accept what I’m saying, and his resistance usually crumbles quickly. This morning is no exception, and I see the wall start to break into pieces around him.  
  
"It can’t be," he finally says, just above a whisper, and damn if my heart doesn’t break all over again at the sound of his voice, sounding like a little boy who has lost his way and just been told he’s never going to find it again. He’s looking around the room, face as white as the sheets on the bed, fear carved into every inch.  
  
This continues on, as it does every morning. It could almost be scripted, except for the fact that one of us will never remember his lines the next day. He looks angry now, and he doesn’t like me calling him by his first name. But I always do, no matter how much he sneers or snarls about it, and I’m not about to stop doing it today.  
  
I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he struggles to remember the last thing that he remembers. I wait for it to hit him, almost as hard as the bludger that hit him at the end of our match in seventh year. His eyes grow big with the remembrance of what he knows to be his biggest triumph over me – a triumph that I would never begrudge him, no matter how petty it seems in the grand scheme of things.  
  
I can’t help but smile at him as the memory takes me back to the beginning; to the point that everything changed for both of us. I watch his eyes cloud over as the fog of fading memories takes over once more.  
  
"What happened?" he asks me.  
  
"Bludger. Sloper got kicked off the team for it. You were out for a week," I tell him, not quite able to hide the start of a smirk as I mention the fact that his father tried to get the bastard expelled.  
  
Lucius was good for some things.  
  
"Have I had amnesia or something ever since?" he asks, eyes narrowing with suspicion.  
  
This is usually where things get a bit…sticky. This is where the accusations come, and where he tells himself that I’ve made it all up; that this is all some big joke orchestrated by me and my Gryffindor friends – as if House affiliations played any part in our lives anymore.  
  
"Just read this note," I tell him, pulling the letter from where it had been hastily shoved down the side of the chair upon his awakening a few moments before.  
  
He looks hard at the paper in my outstretched hand, and I can tell he’s looking at the seal – his seal, the one given to him by his mother years ago. I look away, feeling the need to give him some semblance of privacy, however little. I can hear him turning the letter over in his hands, looking for something more.  
  
"Well, it is my handwriting," he mumbles, eyes scanning the page once again before his defiance takes over once more. "This means nothing. You could have easily faked this-"  
  
"I didn’t," I interrupt, taking my wand out and pointing it at the letter.  
  
He watches as the revealing spell shows only his own magical signature, and he tosses the parchment to the end of the bed, arms crossing as if about to challenge me but says nothing.  
  
"Can I show you something?"  
  
I can tell that he’s nervous as I rise from the chair and move toward him. He leans further away from me, back flush against the headboard of the bed as I reach into the top drawer of the bedside cabinet for the book.  
  
"It's just a photo album that you and I put together," I reply, trying to sound reassuring.  
  
I move to place the book on his lap, and he lets me, eyes never leaving mine until I gesture down and motion for him to open to the first page. He runs his fingers across the rich brown leather cover, pausing over the embossed silver letters in the center.  
  


_**HJP & DLM** _

  
  
"I’m going to go and fetch us some tea," I say after a moment when it seems no more questions are forthcoming. "You must be hungry."  
  
He nods just barely, his eyes fixed on the first picture he sees after opening the cover.  
  
It’s one of my favourite photographs of him. Holding the snitch from the game in which he so brazenly stole it from my reach…at least that’s how I saw it on that day. His smile is breathtaking. I’ve only seen it on two other occasions, and I’ll share that with him later. When he’s ready to hear about them.  
  
I turn to look at him as I walk out of our room, his eyes firmly fixed on the album as his fingers tightly grip the edges. I close the door behind me before he can turn the page.  
  
~*~  
  
"How is his mood today?"  
  
Snape sweeps into the kitchen with a determined scowl on his face. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I’d probably let myself scowl all the time, too, if I didn’t have two other people in the house to worry about.  
  
"Should be a good day for him," I tell him, grabbing another cup from the shelf.  
  
"Angry, then," he says, leaning against the counter opposite, arms crossed and reminding me of how he used to stand in front of his classroom just before launching into lecture.  
  
"Mostly, yeah, but…well, you know how these days usually turn out. I’ve nothing to complain about."  
  
My reluctant houseguest moves to grab the bowl of sugar from the cupboard, a sure sign that he’s been living here long enough to remember how I take my tea. It was difficult at first, considering we were never on the best of terms, but we have a common goal and that seems to be enough to maintain an almost friendly civility between us.  
  
When I first broached the idea three months back, he very nearly laughed. He soon saw the reasoning behind it, as his daily visits morning, noon, and night were beginning to wear on him. Guilt was also a strong motivator, and I used it to my advantage. I, too, got tired of the fifty questions that would be thrown at me every time he came through the floo. It was easier this way, to just let him have constant access to Draco as needed.  
  
"Is he looking through the book?"  
  
"I hope so," I mumble, setting two cups of strong tea on the table, along with a plate of day old scones, clotted cream, and jam. "Strawberries?"  
  
He nods and summons the bowl from where he sits as I set a heating charm on Draco’s cup. I’ll give him fifteen minutes or so before I venture back up to our room. He won’t eat anything right now anyway, transfixed as I’m sure he is by what he’s seeing on those pages.  
  
"It’s ready," he says to me, abruptly changing the subject, and I can see a faint flicker of doubt behind his dark eyes.  
  
I don’t need to ask what he’s referring to.  
  
"Already?" I don’t bother hiding my surprise. Two days previous was the last attempt, and never before had he wanted to try another so soon.  
  
He simply nods, offering nothing more.  
  
"Tonight?"  
  
"It would be best, yes," he replies before taking a large sip of his black tea.  
  
"Oh."  
  
I stand, suddenly feeling every nerve in my body and needing to get up and move around.  
  
"There’s a new sedative, intended to aid in clearing his mind. If I’m right, that combined with the rest should remove whatever block is in place and restore him."  
  
"What’s the harm in giving it to him now? If it works-"  
  
"Which it may not."  
  
"I know that, but if it does, then…then that’s less time for him being, well, like this."  
  
He’s giving me that look again, and I can’t meet his eyes. I stop pacing the tile and sit back down, keeping my head bowed. It’s pity he throws my way, as if he thinks me a fool for hoping. Hypocritical, considering I can see his own hope hiding behind his doubts.  
  
"Tonight, Potter."  
  
I say nothing, breaking off a piece of scone and realising I’ve lost my appetite. Every new attempt does this to me. The other, more selfish reason for wanting to try the potion now is that I know I’m going to be a jittery mess the rest of the day with this hanging over my head.  
  
"Come up in ten minutes." I say, standing and grabbing my nearly untouched plate from the table and placing it on a tray, along with Draco’s tea and the clover honey that I know he prefers.  
  
I walk up the stairs, pausing at the first door on the left and peering through the large gap to see if Callia is awake. She’s still sleeping, her tiny thumb nestled in her mouth and her other fist gripping the soft, cream coloured blanket that Draco bought when she was just a month old. I feel the familiar tightness in my chest as I take in her shiny blonde hair and little button nose.  
  
"Maybe today, pumpkin," I whisper, turning toward the bedroom door across the hall.  
  
Balancing the tray on one hand and watching the tea slosh over the sides a bit from my unsteady hold, I open the door.  
  
"Where is she?" he asks desperately, before I can even move one foot inside the room.  
  
"She’s sleeping."  
  
I place the tray on the trunk at the foot of our bed, and start to fix it just the way he likes. Just enough cream to change the color, and a healthy dollop of honey. I can’t look at him just yet. The brief glance that I caught upon opening the door was too much. Fresh tears were threatening to spill onto his cheeks, which were already flushed and damp, and the look in his eyes could only be described as misery.  
  
There was something else there, though, but I can’t pinpoint it, nor can I waste the energy on trying to figure it out just now.  
  
"You can see her in a bit," I say, cutting one of the scones in half and opening the jar of jam.  
  
"I want to see her."  
  
"You will," I say deliberately, looking him in the eyes. "I promise."  
  
I spread a thick layer of clotted cream on his scone before spooning out his favourite jam.  
  
"Harry, please," he whispers, pleading.  
  
I nearly drop the knife. He hasn’t called me by my first name in months. Ice trickles down my spine as I look up at him again, and for the first time in oh so long, I can see something familiar behind the grey eyes.  
  
"Draco-"  
  
"Let me see her. _Please._ "  
  
The photo album is still open on his lap, and I can see the picture on the last page that he’s been looking at – the picture that has apparently brought this on.It was taken ten months ago by Hermione. Draco and I are sitting on the bench out in the back garden, both of us smiling down at the tiny pink bundle in Draco’s arms. Callia’s face is looking up at him, eyes open and bright, still shockingly blue from before they changed to their current viridian hue. She was only a few days old, then, and it was the first day we brought her home from the hospital. Her fingers are gripping my thumb as my palm rests on her belly, and Draco’s fingers are toying with the thick tuft of blonde curls on top of her head. My arm that is around Draco’s shoulders tightens, and he rests his head on my shoulder, contentment shining from him.  
  
That was the day that Draco forgot his middle name. The day that all of this started.  
  
"Do you remember?" I hear myself asking, because _that look_ – it’s been so long.  
  
"No, I-"  
  
But I can hear hesitation in his voice. There is something there. I’m at his side as fast as if I’d Apparated.  
  
"Draco, if you remember something – _anything_ – you have to tell me."  
  
"I said no! I don’t remember anything!" he yells, not out of anger but out of fright as he scuttles away from me.  
  
But that _something_ is still there. I can’t put it into words. It’s as though I can see a new emotion running through him, something familiar to me but frightening to him.  
  
I don’t know when I’d gripped his shoulders, but it’s scaring him, and I pull my arms back as though electrocuted. His eyes are wide and unblinking as he stares up at me, his knees now pulled against his chest as though he has reason to protect himself from me, as if I would physically harm him.  
  
That thought alone lances through me like a blade.  
  
"I’ll…" I start, but can’t get any more words past my throat.  
  
I leave him there, moving swiftly across the hall to get the only source of comfort that I think I can give him right now.  
  
Callia has always been a sound sleeper, and doesn’t awaken when I lift her from the crib and rest her head against my shoulder. Two deep breaths to try and slow my pounding heart, and I’m walking across the hall once more with more hope than I’ve ever felt since this all began.  
  
He’s out of bed, standing at the foot and gripping the hem of the well-worn cotton shirt that he prefers to sleep in. He stares at the child I carry in my arms. His daughter. I can see his breath quicken and I’m looking for sparks of memories in his eyes.  
  
"Do you want to hold her?" I ask quietly, as much for her benefit as Draco’s.  
  
He doesn’t speak, just swallows thickly and shakes his head.  
  
"That’s okay. Maybe…" I start, moving over to the bed and setting Callia on the comforter, smoothing her hair, "maybe you could just look at her. Watch her sleep. You always liked to do that in the beginning."  
  
He stands there, seemingly frozen, just staring at her.  
  
I sit, leaning down beside our baby and place my hand on her belly, rubbing small circles. She’ll be waking soon, and I want her to be able to see me.  
  
"She looks like you. Has your temper as well. Most stubborn baby in all of Britain, Remus says," I smile down at her, "but she’s healthy and happy, and that’s all that I can ask for."  
  
I’m trying to make small talk, hoping it’ll calm him in some small way – as much as I’m trying to calm myself. He walks to the opposite side of the bed, and I’m careful not to look at him for fear of scaring him off. I want him to come to her, to touch her soft skin.  
  
"She’ll be eleven months old next week. Normally we do a little something special on those days. Just for the first year, of course. Molly says it’s good luck."  
  
I feel the mattress dip from where he’s finally sat down, and a few moments later he’s leaning down beside her, mirroring my pose so that if I look up, we’ll be face to face. I move my hand away, hoping that he’ll take the hint. He does, hesitantly, and I look across at him now and see the wonder in his face.  
  
"Pretty amazing, isn’t she?"  
  
"She’s…ours?"  
  
"Of course she is. Do you think that shade of blonde could come from any other gene pool?"  
  
I can see the start of an insult form on those perfect lips of his, but then he looks up to see me smirking and the words die.  
  
"How?"  
  
There are a thousand more questions behind that one single word, and I really don’t want to waste the day talking about the magic and science behind how we created her. I did that last month and don’t care to repeat it.  
  
"Long story. I’ll tell you later."  
  
We’ve been staring at each other long enough that we don’t notice Callia has woken up, until five tiny fingers cuff Draco lightly on the chin.  
  
"Good morning, sweet pea," I coo at her, all worry suddenly gone as I see those green eyes looking up at me.  
  
"She’s very quiet in the mornings," I say off-handedly, "but give her an hour or so and she’ll be talking up a storm."  
  
"She can talk?"  
  
"Well, not real words or anything, but that doesn’t stop her."  
  
He’s at a loss, and I’m well aware of this. But experience tells me to just keep going through the motions and he’ll acclimate on his own.  
  
"Are you okay to watch her for a few minutes while I go and get her bottle ready?"  
  
"Uh huh," he mumbles, not looking at me but fixated instead on his finger that is now tightly grasped in her fist.  
  
This, too, surprises me. Normally he takes a bit more convincing that he’ll be fine with her on his own. My mind is starting to spin with suspicion.  
  
I move from the bed, and Callia doesn’t notice as she’s too busy using her free hand to try and reach for Draco. Just before I walk out the door, I see him move closer and he lets her feel the contours of his face.  
  
~*~  
  
"You’re still here," I say to Snape, genuinely surprised to find him still sitting at the kitchen table.  
  
The breakfast mess is gone, and it looks as though he’s been nursing that cup of tea the entire time I’ve been upstairs.  
  
"I do live here, as you may recall."  
  
He’s staring out the window directly across, not focused on anything in particular.  
  
"I thought you’d gone downstairs when you didn’t come up."  
  
"I’ve done all that I can with the test potion for now, and I will speak with Draco when you are through with him."  
  
"Right. ‘Course," I say distractedly, wondering if I should tell him why my heart is beating a mile a minute.  
  
I reach for a clean bottle from the cupboard and fetch the formula from the fridge, setting a pot of water on the stove to boil.  
  
"There’s something different about him today," I blurt out. "I think he remembers something, but doesn’t want to tell me."  
  
"What makes you so sure of that?"  
  
He takes a sip of his tea, still staring at nothing. He has already made up his mind that I’m imagining things, but I continue.  
  
"Nothing specific, just…there’s something there. I think I saw a flash of recognition. I think he felt something when he saw Callia’s picture."  
  
"Wishful thinking," he says to me, irritation looming at the edge of his words.  
  
"He called me Harry."  
  
His cup stops midway to the table, and I can tell he’s intrigued.  
  
"Ask him," I say, taking the pot off of the stove before it begins to boil over and placing the bottle in the water. "If you don’t, I will, and I think he’ll be more honest with you."  
  
He stands up, placing his half-empty cup in the sink and walks out of the room without a word.  
  
I stand there for several more moments, waiting for the hot water to heat Callia’s formula. I hear the door to the basement slam shut, and I know that Snape won’t be back upstairs for a while. Apparently his desire to talk to Draco was outweighed by what I’m sure he thinks are my asinine notions of progress.  
  
I know what I saw, and I’m not about to let it go.  
  
Testing a few drops of formula against the underside of my wrist, I wonder if I’m not setting myself up for another fall. The last time I let myself hope like this, it took several weeks to pull me out of my funk, and I’m determined not to let Draco or my daughter see me like that again. Not that either of them would remember it.  
  
I dry off the outside of the bottle and grab a bib from the side drawer and make my way back upstairs.  
  
~*~  
  
"Okay, don’t cry or anything, alright? You promise not to do that, and I promise not to drop you. Deal?"  
  
I can hear Draco talking to Callia from outside the open door. He’s done this a few times before, and I smile at the memories. He’s always nervous around her at first.  
  
He’s stopped talking, and I knock gently before walking through the door.  
  
"Want to do the honours?" I ask, trying to sound casual even though my heart is fit to burst at the sight of him holding our daughter.  
  
He looks wary, and I give him a reassuring grin.  
  
"It’s easy, you’ll see."  
  
I walk over to them, placing the bottle on the bedside table and fixing the bib around Callia’s neck.  
  
"Just hold her like so, place the nipple in her mouth, and she’ll do the rest."  
  
I don’t really give him the chance to argue before I’m holding the bottle out toward him and sitting with him on the bed.  
  
He takes it, places it against her mouth and watches her start to suckle. He looks up at me, and I give him an encouraging nod.  
  
Sitting here with him like this, I can almost forget for a moment that he doesn’t love me. That he hasn’t forgotten our nearly eight years together, or every waking moment that we’ve spent creating this family.  
  
"How old am I?"  
  
His voice is so quiet, I almost didn’t notice that he asked me a question.  
  
"Twenty-four. Your birthday was three months ago."  
  
He doesn’t say anything at first, but I can see the wheels turning in his head.  
  
"You can ask me anything you like, Draco."  
  
He repositions himself against the pillows, biting his lower lip and looks up at me.  
  
"And we’re married?"  
  
"Five years this past April," I answer, holding out my hand so that he can see the band around my fourth finger – the one that matches his own, which I’m not even sure he’s noticed yet.  
  
"Where are we? Where do we live?"  
  
"Just outside Salisbury," I say, watching him take in the details of our bedroom. "You designed this house."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Mmhmm," I nod, "you said that you didn’t want to live with anyone else’s memories anymore, but wanted someplace that was wholly our own. We used to have a flat in London."  
  
I can tell from his stare that my mention of memories didn’t escape his notice. I reach for Callia’s hand and let her grasp my finger and hold on.  
  
"What about…You Know Who?"  
  
I’m not surprised by the question. He almost always asks.  
  
"Gone. That part of our lives has been over for nearly six years now."  
  
"My parents?"  
  
His questions are coming quickly now.  
  
"Alive, but your father isn’t the man he used to be. Your mum pretty much manages the Manor and their business affairs now.  
  
He doesn’t leave the house much."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You see them about once a month, though," I add hastily. "We’re on good terms, your mum and me. Your dad tries to pretend I’m not there, usually."  
  
"Those pictures, they…"  
  
He stops, and I can see an embarrassed flush rising on his cheeks.  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I didn’t even know that I was… _gay_ ," he finally says, barely above a whisper.  
  
I can’t help but laugh, but immediately stifle it when I see the hurtful glare being aimed in my direction.  
  
"I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, honest. It’s just…that’s a new one, Draco. I can’t say that you’ve ever mentioned that before. Since all of this, I mean."  
  
I grab the album from where it’s been shoved to the foot of the bed, and open it up to the first picture – the one of him smiling from his Quidditch victory over me.  
  
"On the day that this was taken, you beat me in our final game. You were so damn smug about it," I grinned, still looking down at the photograph.  
  
"I went after you when you got back up to the school. Ron had convinced me that you’d cheated somehow, and I was enough of a sore loser to accuse you of it in front of the entire Great Hall during dinner."  
  
Callia’s starting to fuss, her way of indicating that she’s full and Draco looks at me, wondering what to do.  
  
"Here, let me," I say, grabbing the mostly empty bottle and placing it back on the table before taking her in my arms. I prop her still-clean bib on my shoulder, and pat her back gently several times.  
  
"Anyway, you and I got into probably the loudest screaming match that Hogwarts has ever heard, and landed ourselves in detention with Dumbledore himself. I think it was the first detention he’d ever overseen since becoming Headmaster, actually."  
  
Callia lets out a tiny burp, and Draco looks vaguely horrified. I can’t help laughing again.  
  
"That’s what she’s supposed to do. Gets rid of all the air bubbles so she doesn’t get a tummy ache."  
  
"Oh," is all he says, eyeing her warily.  
  
"Our detention was basically us being locked up in a tiny room with no windows, and told only to either _‘form a truce, or kill each other – whichever comes first.’_ "  
  
"How…creative."  
  
"It was, actually. Smart man, Dumbledore. I’m positive that he knew what had been going through my head better than I did at that point. I was so preoccupied with other things at the time that I couldn't see what was apparently obvious to him and your godfather."  
  
His mouth drops open.  
  
"How did you know that Professor Snape was my godfather? I never told anyone at school!"  
  
"We’re married. I know all sorts of things about you that I didn’t know then," I said, failing to keep the slight smugness from my tone.  
  
Now he’s blushing, and I’d feel bad about it if it weren’t so attractive on him.  
  
"Obviously we didn’t kill each other, but we shared our first kiss that night. Though I use the term ‘shared’ lightly. More like I stole it," I laughed again. "There was punching involved."  
  
He’s looking at me now as if I had skrewts coming out of my ears.  
  
"You lock two hormonal teenagers in a room for hours on end, one of which is harbouring a deeply buried crush on the other, and something is bound to happen."  
  
I’m the one blushing now, and I lay Callia back on the bed and distract her with sparkling bubbles from my wand.  
  
"We got into a punching match after I got sick of you complaining about missing dinner, saying that you’d starve to death because of me, and both of us ended up with split lips. We were both pretty bruised and exhausted, and we just stopped."  
  
"Who won?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The fight. Who won?"  
  
"Oh. Um, well I suspect you did, considering I was the one with the mild concussion when all was said and done."  
  
"Excellent," he smiles for the first time, and it isn’t until then that I realise how relaxed we both are in this moment.  
  
"So we sat there for what felt like hours, and you said something about your lip still bleeding and not even having a clean cloth to wipe it with, and…I leaned over and, well, licked it."  
  
"Potter, that’s disgusting," he says with a slight grimace.  
  
"Yeah, I guess it does sound disgusting," I laugh, "but it wasn’t. I kissed you, sat back and waited for you to crack my skull open, but instead you leaned over and kissed me back. Quite thoroughly, I might add."  
  
I watch shock, revulsion, and almost pride wash over his face. It’s rather amusing, really.  
  
"You told me months afterward that that was the first time you knew that kissing was supposed to make your whole body feel like it was on fire," I say, "but I prefer to think it was just my stellar snogging skills," I add with a smirk.  
  
"So, that’s when this," he gestures with a wave between us, "started?"  
  
"Yes and no. After that it was mostly just unexpected encounters. The second time, you initiated it. You grabbed me while I was walking through the Charms corridor just after curfew. Dragged me into an alcove and snogged the life out of me, then shoved me back out without a word."  
  
"I would never!"  
  
"Oh, but you did," I laugh, "and that wasn’t the only time. I got you back, though."  
  
"Is that so?" he asks warily.  
  
"Grabbed your arse in potions class as you walked past me when we had to fetch ingredients from the back room."  
  
His mouth is gaping like a fish now, and I don’t bother trying to control my laughter.  
  
"It sort of snowballed from there, and by the time the year was over, you and I were in the luggage compartment of the Hogwart’s Express having a very nice time indeed."  
  
He suddenly stands up and goes to stand over by the window. My smile dies immediately, and I’m afraid that I’ve told him too much, too soon. I felt so comfortable, though, and I thought he did, too, all things considered.  
  
"Draco-"  
  
"I wasn’t honest with you earlier," he interrupts.  
  
I can feel my heart start to beat faster.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Callia starts to babble, the distracting bubbles having faded and her sensing that my attention isn’t on her anymore. Draco turns around and stares at her. He’s biting his lip again.  
  
"You can tell me, Draco. You can tell me anything."  
  
It’s taking all my willpower not to beg him to talk to me.  
  
"I don’t remember anything, but," he stops, and my skin is practically crawling with the need for him to continue.  
  
"But?"  
  
"I feel…things."  
  
I’m on my feet and walking toward him before I can stop myself.  
  
"What things?"  
  
"Just…things."  
  
"If-"  
  
"About her," he blurts out, "and about you," he adds, quietly.  
  
I was right. It wasn’t false hope. I can feel my heart in my throat, beating so fast it hurts.  
  
"I was looking at the pictures in that book, and-"  
  
Oh how I wish he wasn’t so afraid to tell me.  
  
"I just really wanted to hold her."  
  
"I know," I whisper, telling myself to shut up before I scare him into silence again.  
  
"I needed to hold her and…"  
  
He stops, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing anymore.  
  
"I wanted you with me," he finishes quietly, and I can hear the faint hint of shame in his voice.  
  
I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling Callia moving on the duvet behind me, and absentmindedly reach my hand back and touch the side of her face to reassure her of my presence.  
  
Draco turns to face the window again, and I don’t know what to say to him. I want to tell him that I’ll always be here with him, even when he doesn’t want me, but something inside tells me that he isn’t ready to hear that.  
  
I flip the pages in the album until I find the picture of us on the steps of Hogwarts, our bodies close enough to be mistaken for one person, my mouth on his as he runs his hands down my back and up to cup my face. It was our last day at the castle, and we didn’t know when we’d see each other again after that.  
  
"It’s okay," is all I manage.  
  
I turn to take Callia in my arms and stand up. I’m not what he needs right now, I know this, but there’s something that I can give him that is familiar and safe.  
  
I walk out without another word, and I don’t look to see if he watches me leave.  
  
~*~  
  
"I said _tonight_ , Potter."  
  
Snape doesn’t let me get one word out after opening the basement door and assuming my reason for disturbing him.  
  
"He needs you," I say, taking Callia’s hand in mine and letting her put my finger in her mouth.  
  
She’ll start teething soon. If this doesn’t work, it’ll be yet another first of hers that Draco will miss out on.  
  
Snape doesn’t ask me why, just brushes past me and takes the stairs two at a time, not bothering to shut the door before he leaves.  
  
I walk in, not caring if he’d mind or not – it is my house, after all – and look around. There is a meticulous order to every jar and flask, I’m sure. Callia is pointing and babbling softly, as though aware of the fact that loud noises aren’t welcome in Snape’s quarters. I walk over to two cauldrons that are simmering on the opposite counter, careful to turn my daughter away from the direction of any fumes.  
  
The first one is an almost clear, pearlescent potion that I recognize as the one he gave Draco two nights previous. The second could be mistaken for Dreamless Sleep, were it not for the slight change of colour. I wonder if this is the new sedative that Snape was talking about this morning.  
  
I turn and walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me, trying not to think about what’s going upstairs.  
  
~*~  
  
I’m flipping through television channels, paying little attention to the screen, when Draco walks into the room. He’s looking at Callia, who is lying flat on her back on the sofa cushion beside me, amusing herself with her own tiny feet.  
  
"Hi," he says, and I can tell he’s avoiding my gaze.  
  
I move my legs from where they’re sprawled out and prop them up on the coffee table instead. His hair is damp from bathing, and he’s dressed in an old faded pair of jeans and cotton button-down. Snape must have shown him which wardrobe was his.  
  
"Have a seat," I offer casually, hoping he’ll take the invitation.  
  
He starts to walk around the room, running his hands across the books on the shelves and various knick-knacks we’ve collected over the years, but then finally – cautiously – sits beside me.  
  
He looks at the television set, and I can see his brows furrow in contemplation.  
  
"Do you remember televisions?" I ask, not remembering myself if the seventeen year old Draco had ever been exposed to one.  
  
"I…I don’t know," is all he replies, turning to look over at our daughter again.  
  
"Do you want to hold her?"  
  
He nods, and before I can reach down to grab her, he leans over my lap and picks her up underneath her arms and cradles her against him.  
  
It’s pathetic that the pain from his elbow digging into my thigh is the most intimate touch I’ve had from him in months.  
  
I can hear Snape moving around in the kitchen across the way, and it occurs to me that it’s nearly lunchtime. The morning has gone by so quickly, yet not quick enough.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
"I could eat," he says, standing with Callia in his arms and waiting for me to lead the way.  
  
It’s then that it strikes me, yet again, that something has changed. I desperately want to ask what he and Snape talked about, but can’t bring myself to form the words out of fear he’ll evade the question. Or worse – lie. It’s silly, and I know this, but even those small reminders of the fact that he doesn’t trust me is hurtful still, so I avoid them if possible.  
  
His entire mood, though, is different. He seems to have gained back a bit of his confidence, though I have no idea how or why. It almost reminds me of the façade he used to put up around my friends when I first told them about me and Draco, but with far fewer icy undertones.  
  
I stand and walk toward the entryway that leads to the adjoining kitchen, our shoulders brushing lightly as I move past. He doesn’t seem bothered by this, and I’m secretly embarrassed that such a small gesture brings a grin to my face.  
  
"I’ll be out of your way momentarily," Snape says, cutting a rather meager cheese sandwich in half and placing it on a plate.  
  
"Nonsense. Stay and eat with us."  
  
He doesn’t answer me as I open the fridge and inspect its contents, but I hear one of the chairs being pulled out and I know he’s sat down.  
  
"Leftover chicken and potatoes all right with you, Draco?"  
  
"Fine," he says matter-of-factly.  
  
I busy myself with getting lunch ready, asking Snape if he wants to trade up his sandwich for something more substantial.  
  
Draco is sitting with Callia on his lap, gently bouncing her and still wearing that look of awe as he stares at her. I can’t remember a day in the past six months where he’s been this comfortable with her.  
  
As soon as I can get a minute alone with Snape, I need to ask him what they talked about upstairs. Has Draco remembered things that he’s not telling me about? More than just a few fleeting feelings of affection that he doesn’t want to share with me? I can feel frustration taking root, and I’m having a hard time shaking it off today. Part of me wishes there wasn’t a new potion to try so soon – these days always keep me on edge and wear me down.  
  
"Tea or juice?" I ask Draco, and he answers by standing and going to the fridge, opening the door and taking out the pitcher of pumpkin juice, Callia balanced on his hip as though he’s done it a thousand times before.  
  
"Um, where are the glasses?" he asks, and I point to the cabinet across from where he stands.  
  
Snape and I are both watching him, and I’m sure that he’s aware. Dark eyes meet mine for a moment before they turn back toward Draco, and I nearly burn the potatoes in my distraction.  
  
"If you want to," I say to Draco, "you can get the plates and silverware out and set the table."  
  
He nods and begins opening cabinet doors until he finds the one he needs. He doesn’t ask me where they are, and I so I don’t offer their location. He sets the plates on the table before searching for the silverware, and asks me about Callia.  
  
"Is she going to have another bottle?"  
  
"Oh, no she can have solids now, but I usually feed her afterward," I say, setting a basket of sliced bread on the table.  
  
"If I didn’t, I’d never get a hot meal," I add, smiling.  
  
He laughs softly at that, and my smile grows. I don’t quite know what’s going on right now, this Draco is new to me, but I don’t want to bother trying to figure it out. There’s almost a sense of normalcy in the room, and I’d like to appreciate it for what it is.  
  
"There’s a playmat in the other room with some toys on it that I usually drag in here, and she’s alright to entertain herself on that while we eat. Or you’re more than welcome to hold her, of course."  
  
He opts to keep her on his lap as we finally sit down to eat, and he stays silent for the rest of the meal. Snape and I talk about recent articles in the Prophet about the upcoming election for the new Minister of Magic, both of us agreeing that Shacklebolt is likely to win.  
  
I’m so caught up in the conversation that I don’t notice when Callia starts coughing until Draco says my name in a panic. I look over, and her face is bright red, her eyes wide and shining. She’s not making any noise now, and I can tell immediately that she’s not breathing.  
  
"Potter!" Draco cries, and I swiftly move from my chair and grab her in my arms.  
  
Everything happens in a blur, my wand in my hand in less than a second and the summoning charm out of my mouth before Draco can stand.  
  
A small piece of potato lands on the table, and Callia is crying, her face still red and the tears flowing fast and freely now. I cradle her to me, her chest against mine, and I gently pat her back, rocking back and forth as she continues to gasp between her cries of distress.  
  
"Shh, it’s alright now, there there," I murmur, trying to soothe, willing my own heart to stop trying to beat its way from my throat.  
  
I finally look at Draco, his face pale and lower lip trembling, and he bolts from the room.  
  
I look over at Snape, and he merely raises an eyebrow and returns to his tea.  
  
~*~  
  
"Draco?"  
  
I knock gently on the door, testing the knob to see it’s unlocked. I wait a few moments, hear nothing, and decide to go in. He’s sitting on the chair I occupied earlier that morning, but it’s up against the wall now and he’s staring out the window. His hands are gripping the arms tightly, his knuckles nearly white from the force of it.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
I take a few steps inside the room and shut the door once more behind me.  
  
"Does it matter if _I’m_ okay, Potter?"  
  
"Draco, she’s fine-"  
  
"It’s not fine! Nothing’s _fine!_ Don’t you see that?"  
  
He turns and glares at me, and I know his anger is coming from fear so it’s easier to let it roll off.  
  
"She’s okay, I prom-"  
  
"Stop trying to placate me!" he spits out, turning back to the window.  
  
"Look, Draco-"  
  
"Stop fucking calling me that!"  
  
"No!" I shout back, having reached what little limit I had left.  
  
He glares at me again, and it’s all I can do not to walk over there and grab him by the shoulders and try to shake sense into him. I can feel my heart starting to beat faster, and I know that if I don’t calm down, I’m going to say something I’ll regret and this day will have been for nothing.  
  
"Look, _Draco_ , it happens, okay? Do you think I’m a perfect parent?"  
  
He says nothing, just keeps staring, anger and guilt coming off him in waves.  
  
"When she was two months old, I nearly scalded her in the bath."  
  
I sit on the trunk at the foot of the bed, running my hands through my hair and sighing.  
  
"I was rushing around, running late because you had an appointment at St. Mungo’s, and I forgot to check the temperature of the water," I continued. "The only reason I didn’t hurt her is because she dropped her rattle in and I got splashed."  
  
He’s clenching his teeth. I can tell from the set of his jaw. I keep my distance even though I want to go to him and tell him it’ll be okay, take him in my arms and whisper that Callia still loves and needs him.  
  
"I can’t do this," he finally says, quiet and unsure.  
  
"You can."  
  
"No, I _can’t._ "  
  
His shoulders fall in defeat, and I can see the frustration turn inward, morphing into desolation – and I can feel the hope I had for salvaging the day leave me.  
  
"I can’t pretend, whether _he_ likes it or not."  
  
Ah. I see. Snape had managed to talk him into playing along, then. The fact that it was done largely for my sake doesn’t make me feel any better. This isn’t about me – it never has been.  
  
"I’d like to be left alone."  
  
I don’t know what else to say to him, certain that whatever I come up with will be the wrong thing or anger him further.  
  
So I do the only thing that I can, and leave him be.

~*~

The headache that threatened to consume me this morning has returned with a vengeance. I’m watching Callia as she sleeps, knowing there is no threat to her but still feeling unsettled from the incident earlier. I haven’t felt this helpless since Draco first started having serious issues with memory loss.  
  
It’s been two hours since lunch, and I’ve done nothing but sit here at the kitchen table since Draco asked me to leave. The dishes are still on the table, food now cold, and I have no motivation to clean up the mess. Right now all I want to do is run.  
  
It’s an urge that I haven’t had in quite a while.  
  
Draco’s memory loss started off with just a few forgotten things…names of relatives that he hadn’t seen in a while, where he had last left items around the house, and other inconsequential facts. He was seven months pregnant with Callia at the time, and Hermione assured me that it wasn’t that uncommon in the later stages of pregnancy. I never worried about it. Not until the day he forgot his own middle name.  
  
We were filling out the birth certificate, having finally agreed upon a name, and he hesitated when he got to the section for the birth parent. I noticed it, but thought nothing of it when he suddenly stood up and left the room. I assumed that he had gone to check on our daughter, but I found him half an hour later in our bedroom when heard Callia crying from the nursery opposite the hall.  
  
He didn’t tell me until two days later, and I knew deep in my gut that something was wrong, something that couldn’t be blamed on the pregnancy, especially now that Callia had been born. He went downhill fast after that, and a month later when he woke up not knowing where he was and looking at me as if I was a stranger, I went to Snape for help.  
  
That was the first time since the days of Voldemort that I’d seen genuine fear on his face, and that scared me almost more than what Draco was going through.  
  
We gave up on the healers at St. Mungo’s after about two months and over two dozen examinations; their experience with male pregnancy was practically nil and they had offered no solid information. Snape and I decided it wasn’t fair to Draco to put him through that when it wasn’t doing any good, and he set his mind on finding out himself exactly what was wrong and how – _if_ – Draco could be healed.  
  
I knew there was a measure of guilt in him. He was the one who brewed the potion that allowed us to have Callia in the first place. I referenced it only once, during one of our many conversations regarding what could have happened.  
  
 _"We knew there were risks. It’s not your fault."_  
  
During one of Draco’s final days of having memories of our days prior, he wrote himself the letter that would become part of our daily routine. I put the album together a few weeks later, hoping it would help, even it only to encourage him to feel safe with me.  
  
"Still brooding, I see?"  
  
I didn’t hear Snape come in, and I look up as he sets a cup of strong coffee in front of me.  
  
"I hope there’s headache potion in here," I mumble, and he nods his head.  
  
He’s gotten so good at reading my moods.  
  
"Have you seen him?" I ask.  
  
"The door was shut and I didn’t wish to disturb him," he answers, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me.  
  
I take small sips of my coffee, slowly starting to feel the potion work its way into my bloodstream as the pain abates.  
  
"I don’t know what to do," I finally say, knowing I’ll get little sympathy from him.  
  
"You’ll go on as normal. This is not the first tantrum he’s had."  
  
"I’d hardly call it a tantrum," I say, surprised at his callousness at what happened. "He thought he really hurt her, and he was scared."  
  
"He’s sulking because he took his eyes off of her long enough for her to grab from his plate. He’s hardly the first parent to have made such an error."  
  
"But he doesn’t know that, does he? He woke up this morning expecting to go to class, not have fatherhood thrown at him with a ready-made family!"  
  
"Be that as it may, it was evident moments later that the child was fine, and it’s unwise for you to let him continue to shut himself in that room like you always do."  
  
I can only stare at him, knowing in my heart that he’s probably right, but still bristling at the implication that I’m not handling this as well as I should be. As if he has any more experience with how to handle someone in Draco’s situation than I do.  
  
"You don’t know what this is like," I shoot back at him, feeling anger start to seep in my veins.  
  
"You are not the only person living with this."  
  
"No, I’m not, but I’m the only person married to him, the only person desperate to have him back – the real him, not this _shell_ of a human being he’s become."  
  
I suddenly hear footsteps swiftly retreating from the open doorway, and I look over at Snape in accusation.  
  
"How long did you know he was standing there?"  
  
"Long enough," he says, taking a sip of his tea as if nothing has happened.  
  
"Bastard," is all that I can mumble before standing up and hoping to find Draco behind an unlocked door this time, though considering what he’s just overheard, I know this to be unlikely.  
  
~*~  
  
"Draco?"  
  
I knock again, still hearing nothing, and wonder if I should break my own rule and spell the door unlocked regardless.  
  
"I’m in here."  
  
I turn my head toward Callia’s room where the quiet voice has come from, and walk over to find the door slightly ajar. Draco is sitting in the chair that he picked out during his fifth month of pregnancy. It's high, ornately carved back threatens to hit the windowsill with every backward motion as he rocks Callia while she sleeps.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He doesn’t respond, just continues his rocking, his thumb softly touching the side of her face as he cradles her. I walk over and stand next to the chair, leaning against the window and looking outside. Silly, inconsequential thoughts run through my head, like the fact that the pansies need weeding and the rose bushes need trimming. It’s September, but in our garden it’s always spring.  
  
"She’s really okay?" he asks, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How can you do this?"  
  
His question isn’t all that unusual. He’s asked it before, and I always give him the same reply.  
  
"Because I love you."  
  
He doesn’t respond to this, not that he ever does. He merely looks up, and I can see him studying my face, as if something there is going to tell him if I’m sincere or not.  
  
"Professor Snape told me what happened. With the potion, I mean. He doesn’t know why I always end up coming back to that particular Quidditch match, but he thinks it’s to do with the head injury that I got from the bludger."  
  
"I know," is all that I can think to say. I can tell that he wants to talk, so I stay quiet in the hope that he’ll continue.  
  
"I still don’t remember anything, nothing about…us. It’s all just feelings," he says, looking down at Callia again.  
  
"What kind of feelings?" I can’t help asking.  
  
"It’s like I told you before. But they’re getting more intense."  
  
My heart skips a beat, and I desperately want to know if any of those feelings are for me, but I’m afraid to ask.  
  
"I look at her, and I swear that I can almost remember what it felt like to have her growing inside me."  
  
His voice is quiet, almost reverent.  
  
"And then there’s you, and I really don’t know what to make of it except that…"  
  
"Yes?" I urge him gently to go on, and I can tell he’s nervous. Embarrassed.  
  
"I want you to…I feel like I need you to love me."  
  
"Draco-"  
  
"It’s stupid, right? Because obviously you do otherwise we wouldn’t be _married_ for Merlin’s sake," he laughs bitterly, "and yet all I can feel is this emptiness and I don’t know why or where it’s coming from and I don’t even know who I _am_ anymore or what I like and don’t like and-"  
  
His words stop tumbling out when he feels my palm rest against his cheek. He still won’t look at me, and I so desperately need to tell him in some way that yes, I do love him and we’re going to get through this, but I don’t know what to say. I know what it’s like to struggle with who you are, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to deal with it on the level that Draco does every single day.  
  
Maybe the fact that he doesn’t remember is a blessing in and of itself, otherwise he’d be no better off than Gilderoy Lockhart.  
  
And so I decide to do something for him that I haven’t done since the very beginning of his illness – something that we haven’t done together since he first started to forget, and would openly ask me to remind him.  
  
"Come on," I say, lowering my hand and gripping his shoulder, "we’re going out."  
  
He does look up now, eyes showing their surprise at my seemingly odd reply to his confession. I can see a bit of hurt beneath the grey, but soon he’ll know why I’m doing this and he’ll hopefully understand.  
  
"What about Callia?"  
  
"I’m going to take her to Ron and Hermione’s while you get changed. Put on something warmer, okay? There’s a dark blue jumper in your wardrobe – that should be all right," I say, taking Callia from his arms, careful not to wake her.  
  
"Where-"  
  
"I’ll be back in ten minutes."  
  
~*~  
  
"What are we doing here?"  
  
Draco wraps his arms around his middle, hugging himself and turning away from the direction of the wind.  
  
"Bit chillier than I expected. Sorry about that."  
  
I cast a charm around us to block out the wind, and he turns toward me, questions written all over his face.  
  
"This is where we got married. Right on this spot."  
  
He says nothing, his mouth gaping slightly in surprise.  
  
"Six years ago you asked me to marry you on this spot, and a year after that, we got married here."  
  
His arms fall to his sides, but he says nothing and so I continue.  
  
"We had a hell of a time warding the place from Muggles. Bit of a tourist spot, you see. Famous White Cliffs of Dover and all that. I think it was the largest warded area in all of Britain that day, aside from Hogwarts, of course."  
  
"My mother used to bring me here as a child," he finally says, looking around and smiling at memories that aren’t ones we can share.  
  
"I know. It’s why you brought me here."  
  
He looks at me, and he’s studying my face again – for what, I’m not sure.  
  
"You were nervous for weeks before asking me. I could tell because you’d been biting your nails and you only ever do that when you’re nervous. I actually thought that you were about to break up with me, and were trying to work up the courage," I say, laughing softly at the remembrance.  
  
"When you brought me out here that day in March, I was braced for the worst, and having you do it here of all places only made me want to punch your lights out. Couldn’t for the life of me figure out why you’d bring me _here_ to dump me. Thought that maybe you were going to just throw me over the cliff and be done with it."  
  
Draco actually smirks at that, and I smile back.  
  
"Instead you got down on one knee after several awkward moments of even more awkward conversation about the weather of all things, and told me you never wanted to live without me."  
  
His smirk fades, and his eyes go to the ground as he places his hands in his pockets. I take my jacket off, not caring that I’m only wearing a thin t-shirt underneath, and wrap it around his shoulders for warmth. I take my time pulling my hands away after smoothing the fabric against his chest.  
  
It feels so good, this small gesture.  
  
"Thank you," he answers quietly.  
  
"We got married the following April. On the Weasley twin’s birthday, actually. When we announced our engagement later that week to everyone at the Burrow, Ron thought that we were joking. Said that April Fool’s Day wasn’t for weeks yet and they weren’t falling for our joke. You thought it would be amusing to actually get married on that day."  
  
"I’m sure they weren’t the only ones who had that reaction."  
  
"Well, yes and no. Hermione didn’t think we dated long enough to really know for sure that what we felt was permanent, but I didn’t care what anyone else thought," I answer, glad that he was looking me in the eyes. "I knew that you were the last person that I ever wanted to kiss."  
  
He walks over toward the cliff and I watch him go, wondering if I’m doing the right thing by bringing him here, and for taking him to the other places that I plan for us to go. He stands on the very edge and looks down at the waves crashing below, like he always did in the past, and I get that familiar nervous rush in the pit of my stomach.  
  
He turns to look at me over his shoulder, the barest hint of a smile on his face.  
  
"Are you going to catch me if I fall?"  
  
I feel my blood run cold at the sound of his words.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
He’s looking at me strangely now as he starts to walk back to me.  
  
"You…do you…"  
  
"Potter, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost," he says, and I can hear actual concern in his voice but am too stunned to be happy about it.  
  
"You always used to say that," I finally blurt out. "Go to the very edge because you knew it made me nervous and then ask me if I’d catch you if you fell."  
  
His eyes widen in shock as his cheeks flush.  
  
"I’m sorry-"  
  
"No! Don’t be, it just-"  
  
"I didn’t-"  
  
"-shocked me to hear you ask that."  
  
I run my fingers through my wind-tangled hair, taking a moment to gather my wits before taking us to our next destination.  
  
"You ready?"  
  
"Yes," he says, and I wrap my arm around his waist and Apparate.  
  
~*~  
  
We’re in an alley in Muggle London, and the space is more confined than I remember it being. We haven’t come here in several years, having moved away from the city shortly after deciding to adopt a baby. Of course, the adoption idea fell by the wayside when Draco came to me a month afterward and told me that there was another alternative, if we wanted to take the risk.  
  
"Come on," I say, easing out of the alleyway next to what I know to be a Waitrose’s supermarket, "it’s not far from here."  
  
He follows me, taking in all the sights and sounds around him. He walks so close to me that our shoulders bump constantly, and I know it’s because he’s in unfamiliar territory.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"You hungry?" I ask him, and he nods.  
  
"Good, me too. This place has great burgers. Chips aren’t half bad, either."  
  
"Potter-"  
  
"There it is," I say, pointing to the pub just up the road as we turn a corner.  
  
"Devonshire Arms?"  
  
"Trust me," I say, turning to smile and nudging him with my elbow.  
  
I open the door and motion him inside, watching him take in his surroundings. Placing my hand on the small of his back, I lead him toward the more secluded area at the back of the pub. We take a table in the corner, and a waitress is asking if we want drinks before Draco even has my jacket off.  
  
"Two Cokes, please, one with cherries," I answer, handing Draco one of the menus.  
  
We sit in companionable silence for the few minutes that it takes her to return with our drinks and take our food order. I slide the glass with the cherries over toward Draco, and he seems deep in thought. I wonder if he’s thinking about what we talked about in Dover.  
  
"So this is the place that we decided to adopt a baby," I start, answering the unasked question.  
  
"What? But…"  
  
"No, we didn’t end up doing that. More on that later."  
  
He fiddles with the straw in his drink, and I take a large gulp of mine hoping that he’ll at least try it. He does, takes a moment to decide if he likes it or not, and apparently decides that he does and downs half the glass.  
  
"Thirsty?" I laugh, switching my full glass for his half-empty one and spooning out the cherries for him.  
  
He shrugs almost sheepishly and fishes out a cube of ice, popping it in his mouth.  
  
"About a year after we got married, you had the absurd notion that I wasn’t going to be happy enough with just you and convinced yourself that I’d been longing for a large brood of children that I could never have. I blame that on a row you had with Ginny, but that’s a conversation for another time."  
  
"Weasel’s sister?" he says incredulously.  
  
"Weasley. And yes, that Ginny."  
  
He shakes his head as though he can’t fathom the idea of ever having talked with her, of all people, about our relationship.  
  
"Aren’t you- I mean, weren’t you…didn’t you date her?"  
  
"Very briefly at the end of sixth year, yeah. It was over before summer even began, though. She was actually the last one, before you."  
  
"Lovely," he grimaced, and I have to laugh at the look on his face.  
  
"Anyway, the two of you had a big row over her still insisting that I was missing out by being with you, same old thing-"  
  
"She thinks I’m not good enough for you?" he interrupts, and I’m a bit taken aback though secretly pleased with the sudden defensiveness in his tone.  
  
"Never has, likely never will. She’s living in Germany now, married some bloke she met while playing for the Magpies. We only ever see her around the Christmas hols, but she’s too wrapped up in her own romance now to worry about ours."  
  
"Well. Good."  
  
I don’t bother hiding my smile, and I’m just about to say that I like it when he gets territorial when the waitress brings us our food, and me another Coke.  
  
I’m suddenly starving, and it seems Draco is as well as we both begin eating immediately. We’re through half of our sandwiches before I start talking again.  
  
"I told you that I was happy with the family we already had, but didn’t deny that it would be nice having a child one day. I wasn’t in any rush, though, but the seed was already planted in your head and it grew with a vengeance."  
  
"I’m sure I thought it through very carefully," he says, very matter-of-factly just before eating one of the last of his chips.  
  
"You certainly did, considering that you were the one who brought up the whole pregnancy idea after we’d already decided to adopt. Anyway, stop taking me off point," I say, pointing my sandwich at him in mock accusation.  
  
"We had a bit of our own row about it, in fact, because I started to wonder if maybe it wasn’t you who was secretly hoping for a child and just didn’t want to say out of fear of hurting my feelings or something. After all, you were the one who grew up with that whole pureblood heir-producing mentality, not me."  
  
He expresses his dislike at my veiled barb by stealing a handful of chips from my plate, and I let him.  
  
"In the end, we both admitted that we wanted to raise a child together, you sooner rather than later, and I honestly didn’t mind when we started."  
  
He chews thoughtfully for a moment before we’re interrupted once more by our waitress, asking if we’d like anything else.  
  
"Something sweet," I say, "just surprise us," and she walks away.  
  
"We were sitting at this table, actually."  
  
He’s a little startled by this, I can tell, and then his eyes narrow.  
  
"Would have ruined your big nostalgic plan if we had come in here and there was already someone at this table, wouldn’t it?"  
  
"Not really. We came here all the time. I’m fairly sure we’ve sat at all these tables at one point or another," I smirk, leaning back in my chair as he takes the last few chips from my plate. "Help yourself."  
  
"I just did."  
  
"If you’re still hungry, I hear their pint of prawns is quite tasty."  
  
I laugh out loud at the look of vaguely sickened confusion on his face, pointing to the man at the table opposite who has, literally, a pint glass stuffed full of prawns.  
  
~*~  
  
"Are you sure about this?" he asks apprehensively.  
  
"It’s just the tube, Draco. Nothing to worry about."  
  
I purchase two tickets for the route we need at the kiosk for our next destination, and I can practically feel his breath on my neck, he’s standing so close. I fumble with the Muggle coins, and I wonder if I shouldn’t take him out every day if he’s always going to be this near.  
  
I lead him over to the turnstile and hand him his ticket, taking mine and feeding it through the reader and looking back at him to make sure he’s paying attention before I walk through the gate. He looks at me a bit nervously before feeding his own ticket through, and seems pleased when it spits back out the other end.  
  
"Just one more stop, and then we can go home, okay?"  
  
He nods, and I lead us through the tube station, down the escalator ( _"Stand behind me, the other side is for people who want to walk down rather than wait"_ ), and into the far compartment of the next train that stops. We lingered at the pub longer than I’d planned, and the tube is crowded now with Muggles heading home from work. The train is cramped and too warm, and Draco is pressed up against me, his back against my chest.  
  
Just after the train jolts forward, I feel his right hand reach behind him and grab hold of my wrist.  
  
"It’s okay," I lean forward and whisper so that only he can hear, and move my arm so that I’m holding his hand instead.  
  
I give it a quick squeeze in reassurance, and after a moment, he squeezes back.  
  
We stand in our spot for several more stops, and I’m relieved that I had enough sense back at the pub to walk the few extra blocks to get onto a tube line that wouldn’t require us to make any transfers to reach our final station. Luckily we’ll be Apparating home, because I can tell that Draco doesn’t like the tube now any more than he did his first time on it years ago. When we lived in London, he took a taxi whenever he could and avoided the Tube pretty much at all cost.  
  
"Where’s that voice coming from, and why does it keep telling me to mind the gap?" he asks as we finally step off the train.  
  
"What gap?"  
  
"There," I say, pointing down to the edge of the platform where it drops off, leading to the rails below.  
  
"When a train is at the platform, there’s a gap between them big enough to get your foot caught in, in which case you can pretty much say goodbye to that particular appendage if the train starts to move."  
  
"Ugh, that’s totally barbaric."  
  
I laugh at that, being reminded suddenly of a young Hermione making the same pronouncement at the discovery of wizard’s chess.  
  
We head up the stairs of the Russell Square station to the elevators that will take us up and out, and it’s just as hot and crowded in the elevator as it was on the train. It finally stops, the doors open, and a few moments later we’re walking down the street that will take us to the last place that I want to show him.  
  
"A park?"  
  
"Yeah, but in case you hadn’t guessed already, this place has significance for us, too."  
  
I lead him through the black iron gate and down one of the pathways, passing joggers and Londoners walking their dogs. I can see the bench that I want us to rest on, but there is an old man already there reading his paper. I let my wand fall down my sleeve into the palm of my hand and subtly point it in his direction, whispering the charm that will make him suddenly remember he’s left the oven on at home.  
  
"Tricky, tricky, Potter," Draco says appreciatively.  
  
"I have my reasons," I smile, and guide him over.  
  
We sit, and the large tree behind us shades us from the early evening sun. There’s a girl across the way, sitting against the trunk of another tree and writing in what looks to be a journal. An attractive couple on the bench a little way down from our own is enjoying a leisurely snog, and I don’t bother dwelling on my wish for that to be Draco and myself instead.  
  
"So, why here?" he asks, breaking the silence.  
  
"See that hotel over there?" I point through the trees, indicating the tall, red brick hotel across the street.  
  
"When you and I first decided to move into London and live together, that’s where we stayed for about three weeks until we found a flat of our own. After Hogwarts, I was staying with the Weasleys, and you were back at the Manor, and we pretty much decided to just dive in headfirst into this new relationship of ours and…well, bite the bullet, as the Muggles say."  
  
"Why didn’t we just do that right away?"  
  
"I don’t know. Scared, I guess. I mean, we were pretty young, and I think both of us were wondering if it wasn’t just, um, sex holding us together. At that point, your parents had no idea you had even stopped hating me, and the Weasleys weren’t exactly thrilled at my taking up with you. I got sick of fighting with Ginny about it, and Ron as well, and made the comment in one of my letters that we should just disappear to London and forget about everyone else."  
  
"So we did? Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that. Pretty stupid really, all things considered, but nothing that I regret," I smile, looking fondly at the hotel.  
  
"What about this park?"  
  
"Ah, well, the hotel was nice enough, but after a few days of pretty much just shagging our brains out," I start, not missing the feverish blush on Draco’s face, "we were getting a bit antsy. So we got dressed, ordered room service, and took our food outside to this park. We started coming here every day, going through flat listings until we found someplace not too far from here and fairly affordable."  
  
"Affordable? Potter, if we’re married, surely you know the size of my Gringott’s vault."  
  
"You didn’t have access to it then. You didn’t come into your inheritance until you turned twenty-one, something you found out shortly before leaving the Manor."  
  
"I don’t have any money?" he asked, his cheeks losing that lovely bit of colour.  
  
"Well, you do now seeing as how you’re well over twenty-one," I laugh, "but no, all through school you assumed that you had access to your money since they always gave it to you when you asked. But when your parents found out you were coming to London and wouldn’t tell them why or who with, they held it over your head to try and make you stay at home."  
  
"Don’t tell me that I…got a job-"  
  
"No, no you didn’t get a job," I say, laughing out loud again and see him bristle at my supposed mockery. "I had enough money from what my parents left me, but I was the one who actually got a job."  
  
"Let me guess, something to do with fighting the bad guys, right?"  
  
"Actually, no. I went to work for Luna Lovegood’s father at The Quibbler. It was decent money, and a bit of a laugh considering what most of his issues contained. But he was good to me in my fifth year with that Umbridge mess, and I didn’t mind lending a bit of my notoriety to his paper to boost sales. He’s a good man, Xenophilius."  
  
"Xenophilius? That sounds like a disease."  
  
"You’re taking me off point again," I say, and he rolls his eyes at me.  
  
"This park became kind of a meeting spot for us. The Quibbler’s printing office wasn’t far from here, and you’d meet me here at lunchtime and bring us sandwiches."  
  
"And what was I doing when I wasn’t making you sandwiches?" he asked, looking rather put-out that he had gotten so domestic.  
  
"Probably wanking."  
  
His mouth gapes in indignation, until he sees that I’m joking, and punches me in the arm. Hard.  
  
"Ow! That hurt, you brute!"  
  
"Good! Pervert," he scowls at me.  
  
"Oh, trust me, Draco, I can guarantee that at least some of the time, you were doing exactly that – you sent me plenty of owls going into great detail about it and I couldn’t step away from my desk for all the images you put into my head."  
  
His blush is fierce once more as he fully comprehends what I just said, and I decide to ease up on him a bit and change the subject back to why we were here.  
  
"Remember I told you all about our decision to get pregnant rather than adopt?"  
  
He nods, the pink of his cheeks receding quickly.  
  
"We met here for lunch one day just like always, years after first discovering it, but on this particular day, you had some news for me."  
  
"Callia," he says softly.  
  
"Yeah, Callia. You told me you were pregnant that day, in between our roast chicken sandwiches and Walker’s crisps. We went straight home, I owled into work and said I’d fallen ill during lunch, and we spent the rest of the day in a bed at the hotel…celebrating," I add with a smirk.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, and fiddles with a loose thread on the seam of his trousers. Several moments go by, and I let the silence pass until he’s ready to speak.  
  
"Professor Snape told me."  
  
"Told you what?"  
  
"About it being his fault."  
  
"Oh."  
  
I’m genuinely surprised, because it’s not something that I’ve known him to have admitted to Draco before.  
  
"It wasn’t his fault," I finally say. "We knew there were risks."  
  
"This wasn’t one of them, though."  
  
"Well, no, but no one could have foreseen this happening, Draco."  
  
He looks over at the hotel that we called home for a few short weeks at the beginning of our lives together, and I’m content to just sit and listen to the breeze rustle the leaves overhead as I watch him.  
  
"I know why you brought me here."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Yes. And the pub, and Dover."  
  
I don’t respond, waiting for him to continue.  
  
"It’s been…interesting, don’t get me wrong," he says quietly, looking at me, "but I still don’t remember anything."  
  
"Draco," I sigh, "that’s not why I brought you here."  
  
I search his face, wanting him to figure it out on his own, but there are only questions.  
  
"I brought you here because I wanted you to know that much more of yourself, your life with me. Our life."  
  
"Oh," is all he says, but he looks sad now, and I hate feeling like I’m the one that caused it.  
  
"You said that you didn’t know who you are anymore, and I wanted to give you a little bit of that back. I know it’s not much, but I thought that something would be better than nothing."  
  
The sadness in his eyes fades to something else, something that I can’t quite identify, but it almost looks like gratitude.  
  
"Let’s go home," I say, standing up, but Draco remains seated, looking up at me.  
  
"You love me," is all he says, voice barely above a whisper, and then I recognize what’s in his eyes that I didn’t see before…awe.  
  
"Yes," I answer back, holding out my hand for him to take.  
  
We walk in comfortable silence to a nearby street and into a deserted alcove of a building under construction, and Draco holds on just a little bit tighter as I Apparate us back home.  
  
~*~  
  
"I’d like to talk to my godfather," he says shortly after we get home, and I remind him where the stairs are to the basement where I know the potions master will surely be, recognising his need for space.  
  
I firetalk with Hermione to apologise for being out later than expected, and ask her if they wouldn’t mind keeping Callia again for the night. I hate having to ask again so soon, but I don’t want to delay tonight’s attempt. The morning after Draco takes a new potion is always a little dodgy, and she offered months ago to start taking Callia on those nights so that I would have one less thing to worry about in the morning.  
  
It’s already well after dinnertime, but we haven’t eaten since the pub. I head to the kitchen to see what I can fix for us to eat, knowing that Snape would have already seen to his evening meal.  
  
Standing in front of the open refrigerator door, I can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and heading toward the kitchen.  
  
"Feeling peckish?"  
  
"Draco doesn’t wish to delay in taking the new potion," he says, reaching into the cupboard for a glass.  
  
"Wait – what?" I say shutting the door and leaning against it. "What do you mean he doesn’t want to delay?"  
  
"He’s requested to take it now, rather than later."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you deaf, Potter?"  
  
"No, it’s just…"  
  
I’m not ready for the day to be over. The past few hours with Draco have been more than I could ask for, more than I’ve had in such a long time that I’m now reluctant to see it end. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have to start all over once more and I’m suddenly desperate to hold onto as much of this Draco right now as I can.  
  
Desperate to keep this Draco who looks at me as though he _knows_ me.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"Most likely getting ready for bed."  
  
~*~  
  
I open our bedroom door without knocking first, and Draco clearly wasn’t expecting me judging by the surprise on his face.  
  
He’s standing at the foot of our bed in just his pants, and he has a moment of embarrassment over his state of undress if the flush on his neck and face are anything to go by. I don’t care, though, because right now I just want to convince him to wait, even if only for a few hours.  
  
"Why do you want to do this now?"  
  
"Why wait?"  
  
"Why wait?" I echo back at him, desperation starting to seep through. "Because! Because I…well, you’re…aren’t you…"  
  
"Aren’t I what?" he asks nonchalantly, walking over toward our bed and pulling down the duvet.  
  
I don’t know what to say that isn’t going to make me sound like a selfish bastard. This isn’t about me, it’s about him, and if this is what he wants then I shouldn’t try and stop him.  
  
And yet…  
  
"I thought that we were having a good day," I finally say, ashamed at how weak I must seem right now.  
  
I sit down on the trunk at the foot of our bed and run my fingers through my hair, wanting to tear it out in frustration. Just a few more hours – is that so much to ask?  
  
"Harry," he says, and it’s then that I realize he’s standing right in front of me, close enough that our knees are almost touching. I don’t want to see his face right now.  
  
"I only want a little more time, that’s all, can’t you please give me that?"  
  
"When I woke up this morning, I was expecting a Charms test, or a Transfiguration essay being due. I didn’t expect to find myself with a husband and child, let alone everything else."  
  
I don’t want to hear the rest, I don’t, but I can’t bring myself to move, either.  
  
"But Harry, everything that has happened today – meeting Callia, being with her, and being with you…I think that I want that."  
  
I look up in surprise. That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say, not at all.  
  
"You do?"  
  
"I think so," he answers cautiously, "but there’s no point in dragging this out. If Snape has a way to fix this-"  
  
"You don’t know that-"  
  
"And neither do you. But if he has a way to fix this, I’d rather it be sooner than later, wouldn’t you?"  
  
Part of me is screaming out yes, the other part is crying out no, because if it doesn’t work, these few hours will be lost – and I may never get them back again.  
  
"So how do we normally handle this?" he asks, gesturing toward the bed and deliberately changing the subject.  
  
I want to fight him on this, but there’s not much fight left in me after all this time, and I give in easily. I resigned myself to this long ago, this half-life with a husband who will never feel more for me than small bouts of gratitude on good days.  
  
I was stupid to think that things would change because of today. It’s a mistake that I can’t let myself make again. All that I can hope for now is that he doesn’t wake up tomorrow and have a day where he spends it locked in his room, hating the very sight of me.  
  
"You usually go to sleep first, except on the rare occasions that you don’t mind knowing that I’m lying next to you," I answer, not really paying attention to my words as I stand up and walk around him to his side of the bed.  
  
I start arranging the pillows just to give my hands something to do.  
  
"And in the morning?"  
  
"In the mornings, I always wake first so that you’re not frightened by finding me here, and we start again."  
  
I wonder if I look as defeated as I’m sure I sound, but I really don’t care. In a matter of hours, he’s not going to remember it anyway.  
  
He walks over to stand behind me, and touches my arm, wanting me to turn and face him. I can’t seem to say no to anything that he asks of me anymore, so even though I don’t want him to see the look in my eyes, I do.  
  
"Why haven’t you ever considered putting me in St. Mungo’s, Harry? Why do you put yourself through this every single day?"  
  
"I could never do that to you," I reply immediately, not needing to think about my answer. "At least here, you’re home, even if you don’t know it all the time. I know that you’re home, and I guess that’s where I let myself be selfish."  
  
He cocks his head slightly, his eyes searching mine, for what I’m not sure.  
  
"And your daughter needs you. I don’t want her growing up not knowing what it’s like to have her other father around, and I’ll never take that from her. But mostly, Draco, I do it for you, because no one will ever know you the way that I do, and even if you don’t remember those parts of yourself, I will never forget them."  
  
He says nothing, just stares, but then his arms are around my neck and his chin is resting against my shoulder, and he’s holding me.  
  
"Thank you," he whispers.  
  
My mind and body unfreezes from shock, and I return the embrace, feeling his bare skin beneath my hands and his body pressed to mine. He stands still, seemingly content to let me hold onto him as long as I want. It’s like I’ve been drowning for months, and he’s just given me air to breathe.  
  
Something inside me _snaps_ , something deep down that I know will never heal until my Draco is returned to me. I let my hands take their fill of his soft skin, running across his shoulders and down his spine, along his sides. Tears are prickling the corners of my eyes, but I don’t care about showing this weakness in front of him – not now, not when I think he might finally understand in the only way that he can.  
  
A throat clearing from the doorway causes him to pull away, but I keep my hands against his sides, hoping that he doesn’t step back and out of my reach. I don’t need to look at the door to see who’s standing there, potion in hand. Right now I only want to look at Draco. This Draco whom I have known nearly all my life, but only just met this morning.  
  
"Just leave it," he says looking back at me, and I can hear the sound of the glass being left on the top of the trunk and the door closing behind him.  
  
He gives me a small smile before turning and walking to the end of the bed, and my hands burn for the need to hold him again.Before I can open my mouth to say anything more, he’s swallowing the potion and setting the glass back down with a grimace.  
  
"Does it always taste this bad?"  
  
I don’t answer, still frozen in place and struggling to keep my composure. It briefly crosses my mind that in the past ten minutes, he has gone from the one needing supported to the one supporting me. This day can’t get any more strange and unexpected, and I’d give anything to have it repeated all over again tomorrow.  
  
I know that it’s about fifteen minutes before he’s going to fall asleep, the sedative more mild and not as fast acting as a standard sleeping potion. There’s a clock ticking internally inside my head, and I try to drown out the noise with thoughts of tomorrow, running through the checklist in my mind for how to start our day.  
  
Draco is in the adjoining bathroom, and I can hear the faucet running as he brushes his teeth, taking an extra long time getting rid of the taste of the potion. He comes out just as I’m pulling the top sheet down.  
  
"Your turn," he says casually.  
  
I don’t fully understand his meaning until I’m already in our bathroom, toothbrush in hand. He wants me to fall asleep with him.  
  
And it’s as I stand there that I realise I’ve let something happen that I should have stopped in its tracks…I’ve started hoping that the potion will work, because Draco thinks that it will. And yet, tomorrow morning when he wakes up and still hates me, I’ll be left to deal with it by myself.  
  
Again.  
  
Snape is right. I _am_ a fool.  
  
I can see the lights go out in the bedroom, and I hear the clock ticking again. I splash cold water on my face and dry off, then turn out the bathroom light. The moon is particularly bright tonight, and I can see Draco’s outline on the bed where he lies. He’s facing me, propped up on one elbow.  
  
"How do we normally sleep? This is my side, right?"  
  
"Um, yeah. You…you’re usually asleep by the time I-"  
  
"I meant before."  
  
"Before…"  
  
"Before all of this happened?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
My throat nearly closes up, and I have to swallow a few times to force my voice to work.  
  
"In the middle. You liked to fall asleep with me spooned up behind you, facing the window so you could watch the stars."  
  
"Show me?" he asks quietly, and at the promise of his skin against mine, the way we used to be, my knees go weak.  
  
 _tick_  
  
I pull back the covers on my side and sit on the edge, a new kind of fear rising within me.  
  
"You don’t have to," he says, seeing what he thinks is hesitation.  
  
And it is, but not for the reasons he assumes.  
  
"No, I just-" I start to answer, but quickly shut my mouth and pull my legs up, shifting toward the center of the bed and lying on my side.  
  
Waiting.  
  
 _tock_  
  
He turns his back toward me, and settles in place.  
  
"Comfortable?"  
  
I can only nod, knowing my voice would crack under the onslaught of emotion running through me. When he reaches back and takes my hand, pulling my arm around his side and across his chest, it’s too much and I feel the first tear, hot and unwelcome, slide over my cheek and onto the pillow.  
  
 _tick_  
  
I want to run, but I also want to never move again – the two instincts warring for dominance inside me.  
  
"Harry, you’re shaking," he says, turning around in my arms to face me and oh how I wish he wouldn’t do that.  
  
 _tock_  
  
I close my eyes, ashamed, and feel his finger trace the few damp tracks on my face.  
  
"There’s no stars to look at tonight," he whispers, tucking his head under my chin and wrapping his arm around me.  
  
 _tick_  
  
"Goodnight, Harry," he says, and I can feel his lips moving against my skin.  
  
Does he have any idea what exquisite torture this is for me?  
  
"Goodnight, Draco."  
  
 _tock_  
  
~*~  
  
  
Bright light assaults my eyes before they’ve even opened, and I raise my arm to shield them from the sunlight pouring into our bedroom. It’s not until after I yawn that it registers in my head that there is a very warm body lying against mine, and I panic that I’ve overslept.  
  
I turn my head to look at the clock, and instead of flashing familiar red numbers, it’s completely black.  
  
 _Oh shit._  
  
Just as I’m about to scramble out of bed, knowing that I could have mere moments before Draco is due to wake, I feel him move against me.  
  
"I yanked the damn thing out of the wall when it wouldn’t stop beeping at me."  
  
My whole body freezes, a sick feeling of dread settling in my stomach.  
  
"You must have been really knackered after yesterday, though after all that Apparating, I’m not surprised you’d sleep through the alarm."  
  
Everything seems to move in slow motion as I sit up, effectively dislodging Draco from where he was so comfortably laying against me.  
  
"What…why…how do you-"  
  
"Relax, everything’s all right," he says, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, facing me, his legs crossed.  
  
"It’s still early yet, just after seven o’clock. We could go get breakfast downstairs, or," he shrugs casually, "we could sleep in a bit more. I wouldn’t mind."  
  
"Draco…" is all that I can manage, wondering if I’m not still asleep and this is just a cruel trick of my subconscious.  
  
"I still don’t remember before," he says quickly, leaning forward, "but I do remember yesterday."  
  
"Yesterday."  
  
"Yeah, I remember yesterday. Waking up, seeing Callia for the first time, going to Dover. I remember all of that."  
  
"How…"  
  
"I guess it worked after all, or at least partially."  
  
He crawls up the bed to sit closer to me now, and he grins as he reaches out a finger to push my mouth closed.  
  
"Planning on catching another snitch in there, Potter?"  
  
"I don’t understand," I finally manage, suddenly needing to touch him.  
  
Anywhere and everywhere.  
  
He doesn’t seem to mind as I reach out, my hands touching his arms, his shoulders, his face.  
  
"I woke up about an hour ago, no headache or anything, and just…knew. I still feel the same, I remember everything that you told me, everything that we did," he looks at me, stilling the exploration of my hands by holding them loosely in his own.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asks me when I don’t reply.  
  
I nod, still unable to take my eyes off his.  
  
"You don’t look so good," he says, crawling over my lap to leave our bed, "let me go get you some wat-"  
  
"No! Don’t go, please don’t go."  
  
The words are spilling out of me before he’s out of my reach, and I pull him back toward the bed, standing and wrapping my arms around him, running my fingers through his hair and down his back and holding on so tightly, asking over and over, _please don’t go._  
  
"Okay, Harry, okay, it’s all right, I won’t go, shh, I’m right here."  
  
Whatever broke inside me last night is clearly still broken. I should be shouting from the rooftops that Draco remembers, even if only yesterday, but instead I’m clinging to him like a lost child whose just found his home again.  
  
He guides me back into bed, holding me as his hands stroke up and down my back, slowly soothing. I can feel my trembling start to subside, and I loosen my hold on him, but just enough to pull back and look at him again.  
  
"You don’t know how long I’ve wanted…" I start to say, but don’t know how to finish.  
  
I’ve wanted so much for so long, I don’t know where to start.  
  
"I think I have some idea, Harry," he frowns slightly, and I can see worry in his eyes.  
  
Those eyes that I always thought were so beautiful and wanted Callia to have, and today I’m looking at them and knowing that he remembers me saying the day before that I love him.  
  
Funny how such a small thing can be so overwhelming.  
  
He moves to lie down, and the push against my shoulders tells me that he wants me to do the same. He opens his arms, inviting me, and we lay much like we did early this morning, our positions reversed.  
  
The silence is pressing down on me, a thousand what-ifs swirling around my mind about what this means for us.  
  
Draco shifts beneath me, and his hand tentatively traces the curve of my jaw.  
  
"You really need to shave."  
  
Laughter suddenly bubbles up at the mundane observation in the midst of all this joyful turmoil, and we both start laughing, the tension breaking away and scattering like dust.  
  
"Draco," I whisper, enjoying the quiet that has now surrounded us, "your old memories-"  
  
"I don’t want to think about old memories that I can’t remember, and neither should you."  
  
I raise myself up, needing to see the look in his eyes.  
  
"We can make new ones," he says, without fear or hesitation.  
  
I nod, and lie back down without another word, wrapping my arms around him once more as I push my fears beneath the surface, even if only for a little while.  
  
He pulls the duvet up to cover my shoulders before resting his arms against my back, and I feel his muscles ease, settling in to sleep.  
  
As far as memories go, this is one that I’ll never forget, even if Draco does.  
  
~*~  
  


_One Year Later_

  
  
  
  
"We’re going to be late."  
  
"We’re not going to be late, Harry, would you just relax?"  
  
I don’t bother to stop my foot from tapping against the hardwood floor of our front foyer, knowing it irritates Draco but considering it his punishment for getting us behind schedule.  
  
"Callia didn’t like her dress, we had to change."  
  
"Draco, she’s twenty-three months old. She doesn’t know what she likes or doesn’t like."  
  
"Do you hear that, Cali?" he says to her as he finishes buttoning up the back of her red velvet dress. "Papa thinks that you haven’t got a mind of your own. You remind him the next time he tries to feed you brussel sprouts, okay?"  
  
I roll my eyes, but can’t help but grin. He’s such a natural parent, not at all like his own father. She adores him, her eyes lighting up whenever he walks into the room, no matter how short his absence. His bond with her started on that very first day that he came back to me, and it’s grown steady and strong every day since.  
  
"Do you have Hermione’s gift?" he asks me for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes.  
  
"It’s still in my pocket, same place it was the last time you asked."  
  
"Sorry, I forgot," he says, giving me a quick kiss on the lips before opening the closet door and handing me my jacket.  
  
There was once a time where those two words would have sent spikes of sharp fear straight through me, but not anymore. He hasn't gained his old memories back, but we’ve made hundreds more to help fill the void. Snape is still trying, of course, but we’re both only doing it for his sake. We don’t need Draco to remember anymore, but recognize that it’s something the potions master needs to do in order to make peace with himself for what he should never have felt responsible for in the first place.  
  
It hasn’t been easy getting to the place we are now. We’ve had a lot of fights, a lot of insecurities, and on my part, a lot of fear. For the first few months, I would wake up every morning, waiting to see if he still remembered. _‘Do you remember that I love you?’_ I would ask when his eyes opened, and on the fifty-second day, he answered me with a kiss.  
  
It was a kiss full of promises; a kiss so sweet that the previous months of doubt and trepidation faded away into nothingness.  
  
Everything changed after that moment.  
  
As much as I would like for Draco to remember the important events of our life together – the first time we held hands while walking down the streets of London, the first time we made love in our own bed, the first time he felt Callia moving inside him – it would be a wish I have for his sake, and not my own. I don’t need him to remember who he was, because neither of us are the same anymore. I have been changed by this just as much as he has.  
  
Getting to know each other all over again has become my favourite memory of them all.  
  
 _ **fini**_


End file.
